This will be a series of drabbles, or at least a twoshot.
For Kam I Am.
Happy (late) Birthday, Kam.
She didn't know where she was, exactly. It didn't match any of Anakin's descriptions of the Force. For one thing, there were no dead Force-users, determined to share their wisdom posthumously as they battled the Dark Side.
No, there were warriors in steel armor, battling each other.
Being dead, Padme mused, was not quite as tranquil as it was believed to be.
That was not to say that she hated it. She wasn't in pain any more, whether emotional or physical, so that was something. The scenery was also quite nice, if she disregarded all the bloodlusting occupants. The grassy hills reminded her strangely of Varykino, but thankfully there was enough to distract her from the bittersweet memories.
Maybe this is where the non-Force-sensitives go, she thought doubtfully, watching a blonde built like a rancor attack her sparring partner with a loud war-cry.
She'd been dead for only a few days, but she'd learned two things; 1) The people here were fighters, and 2) She was no fighter.
She had discovered the second fact rather painfully, when she accepted a toddler's challenge to humor him, and had been thoroughly thrashed by that toddler, much to the amusement of the other warriors. Piecing together the tattered remains of her dignity, Padme decided to avoid the others, seeing as she had discovered quickly that her fellow spirits had no idea where Naboo or Coruscant were, and were similarly ignorant to anything else that she tried to talk about. Nowadays, she spent most of her time reading (on strange rolled-up fabric that the occupants called scrolls) in a cool shade, usually in chambers or under a large tree. She felt rather left out.
Then there was a commotion, the dead warriors gathering at the gates where other, newly-dead warriors would emerge, and suddenly Padme wasn't the oddest person around. She knew from experience that new arrivals were treated with loud celebrations and drinking, but while there were certainly loud noises, there seemed to be an air of disbelief when the knew arrival came. Then whispers scattered throughout the crowd, ranging from confusion to outright hostility.
The new arrival - the youngest prince of their kingdom, she learned, maybe that was why everyone was so confused - dealt with the reactions with noteworthy effectiveness. A few cutting words, and the crowd had dispersed - a bit disgruntled, but mostly placated. Padme was impressed.
Until the prince locked eyes with her and promptly turned into a hissing Boma cat.
His eyes widened with shock, which then turned to rage. "You! How dare you perish after I sacrificed myself for you and my oaf of a brother? Could you not have clung to your brief mortal life for longer than a few accursed minutes? If Thor loses the battle to Malekith now due to his sentiment, I am holding you personally responsible!"
"I'm sorry," Padme cut into his rant. "But I have no idea what you're accusing me of."
"I am accusing you," the dark-haired man said acidly. "Of utter incompetence. How were you killed? Thor and I have eliminated all of the Dark Elves, so what was it that killed you? A piece of shrapnel, perhaps? You humans are irritatingly fragile."
"For your information," she said coldly. "I died in childbirth."
That seemed to surprise the man, before he frowned darkly. "That oaf barely courted you for two years. And they dare call me loose?"
"I don't know who you're talking about, but two years seems like a long time to 'court' someone," Padme pointed out.
He glared at her. "Perhaps for a human, but for an immortal such as Thor, that is barely an eye-blink."
She had no answer for that. The man glanced at her, and sighed. "I suppose there's no use bickering about it now that the damage is done." She kept staring at him. Immortal? He stared back, and the silence dragged. Then, reluctantly, he began, "As one who has had experience with pregnancies myself, I must say that you carried it well. You were barely showing when I saw you earlier, but perhaps mortals have some form of technology to prevent themselves from appearing heavy. It seems as though yours has worn off, though. You look far weightier than you did two hours ago."
Padme spluttered. "You - preg -but - did you just call me fat?"
He patted her shoulder in a manner that she supposed was meant to be consoling. "It is a common aftereffect of pregnancy, Jane Foster."
"I am not Jane Foster!"
"Delirium isn't a common effect of pregnancy," he mused. "Unless you count that time I birthed a horse, but in my defense, it was a horse."
Padme gaped. "What?"
"Never you mind, it is an old story," he said dismissively. "Now let's find out the extent of brain damage you have, shall we? Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Stop mocking me! My name is Padme Amidala Skywalker, I'm married to Anakin Skywalker, and I don't know who this Thor person is! Or who you are, for that matter!"
He looked at her with something akin to pity. "Death must have addled your brain, Jane Foster." She opened her mouth furiously, but he continued. "Very well, I shall indulge in your dementia, but only because I have little else to do for the next few hours. I am Loki Laufeyson, brother of Thor Odinson, and likely your future brother-in-law. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Padme Amidala Skywalker."
Padme seethed, but she was a politician and former queen, therefore good manners were ingrained into her psyche. "Likewise," she gritted out, offering a wide, fake smile.
They shook hands, and that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Well, not quite.
But it was the beginning of a long, postmortem antagonistic relationship.
Hope you liked it, Kam!
Preview:
"For a supposedly married woman invested in fidelity, you are remarkably quick to ogle my brother."
"...I like tall blonds, alright?"
RnR!